


Fancy Shoes (I Wore Them Just For You)

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Date Night, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gender Is Government Propoganda, Genderqueer Character, Let Steve Harrington Wear A Dress You Cowards, M/M, Other, Panty Kink, Surfer Trash Billy Hargrove, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 17:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Queen Stevie puts on a dress for date night. Billy barely avoids drooling on the table.





	Fancy Shoes (I Wore Them Just For You)

_ Queen Stevie.  _

 

That’s what Billy used to say in High School, pushing Steve down onto the polished wooden floor of the gymnasium. Because Steve was too pretty. Too perfect. Needed somebody to rough him up so he’d stop fucking smiling that way. The way that made Billy obsessed. He always wanted to know what Steve had to smile about. Who the hell he was thinking about to make him so goddamn happy.

 

Now he knows. Now he’s what Steve smiles about. It makes him endlessly smug, as they wander in the California sunshine. Steve is his. They’re far away from Indiana. Living out of a van and the occasional hotel when it’s time to shower or it’s too hot to sleep in the car or on the beach. Cooking on a camping stove. Drinking warm box wine. Because it’s July, and the lease they signed doesn’t start until August, and they’re reckless twenty-somethings, surviving off Billy’s job at the surf shop and Steve’s substantial savings account. Everything is loose and carefree in a way that Billy didn’t think was possible. Now he smiles too. Wide, dopey, and lovesick. 

 

It’s pretty gross, all things considered.

 

Tonight, they’re at a Red Roof Inn. Because Steve wants to go out, so he needs to wash the salt off his skin. He wanted to go in the bathroom with his suitcase and come out half an hour later an entirely different person.

 

Billy’s just lying back on the creaky mattress, with the comforter peeled down. The door swings open, a little steam still floating on the air from the long, hot shower. Queen Stevie steps out, dark stockings and shiny red high heels. Little black dress, that hangs just so off that lithe body. Cinching in around the hips, flowing downward, pleated so it swishes with every step. A choker made of black satin and three rows of shiny white pearls rests high on the curve of her elegant neck, hiding any trace of an adam’s apple. Glossy red lips to match the heels. Dark eyeliner and mascara behind cat-eyed glasses. Her wavy brown hair is all done up from hot curlers and hairspray like Farrah Fawcett. 

 

She’s beautiful. She’s royalty. When she kneels on the bed, straddling Billy’s hips, she smells like clove and magnolias. 

 

“Hey, babygirl.” Billy runs his hands up her thighs, tracing over the silky softness of the stockings. 

 

Stevie smiles. But swats his hands away when they wander too high. “I wanna go somewhere nice.” Her voice is a breathy alto. Like she smokes too many cigarettes. Drinks too much warm southern comfort. 

 

“Well sitting on my lap ain’t a great way to get that going.” Billy grins. 

 

She sighs, heavy, melodramatic, and climbs off him. “Get dressed. No t-shirts, aloha print, or board shorts.”

 

“If you care so much about it, why don’t you just pick my clothes out.” 

 

_ “Billy.” _

 

“Yeah, yeah. Fine. I’m on it.”

 

Billy showers too. Not as long, or with the water as warm. He towel dries his shoulder-length curls. Puts on some black slacks and one of the stupid polo shirts Steve has forced upon him over the years. He decides on the least objectionable one. The soft salmon-color that’s been worn out enough to not look so starched and douchey. It’s tight on his biceps. Stretches a little across his chest. He looks pretty good. Even if it’s not the sort of thing he’d choose himself.

 

He doesn’t even push his luck on a shell necklace or rope bracelet. Steve claims to not be a fan of the surfer trash aesthetic. Even if Billy suspects it’s not true, given the amount of times they’ve fucked on a beach towel while soaked in ocean water, he knows it doesn’t have a place in  _ high society.  _

 

He must pass whatever standard Stevie’s decided to hold them to tonight. Because she rewards him by looping their arms together and dragging him towards the door. She’s an inch or so taller than him anyway. In heels, it’s further exaggerated. Billy doesn’t mind. It’s kind of hot. 

 

They end up at some fancy French place that she read about in the paper. They only get a table because it’s 9 o’clock on a Tuesday night. Billy drinks whiskey, neat. Stevie drinks grey goose martinis with a lemon twist. Billy doesn’t know what half the food they order is. Stevie is the one who speaks french. It all tastes good. 

 

He’s more focused on the flickering candle light in the dim room. The stark white table cloths and soft jazz music. This is Stevie’s element. Her lighting. Her soundtrack. Billy wishes he had a video camera. It wouldn’t do the moment justice. But he could try. 

 

He’s always felt like Stevie belongs on the silver screen. She’s classy enough for it. More an Audrey Hepburn than a Madonna. She oozes affluence. Culture. Quotes 18th century philosophers, and books Billy’s never read, and tells jokes he only halfway understands. He knows he’s basically a stable boy fucking a princess. But it’s more a lack of access and opportunity that separates them than it is a disparity of intelligence. Billy knows about different things, like how to fix an engine, or sand a surfboard, or avoid the cops when you’re basically a vagrant. They bring diverging skill sets to the table. Theoretical and practical knowledge on how to cobble together some semblance of a functional life. 

 

By the time they’re done with the food and on the third round of drinks, Billy has inched his chair far enough along that they’re sitting at a table corner, basically right next to each other. It’s late. The restaurant isn’t so crowded. The candle’s glow is soft enough, and the tablecloth is long enough that Billy decides to risk it.

 

Once again, he slips his hand under the hem of Stevie’s dress. This time, she doesn’t stop him as he traces up her thigh. In fact, she spreads her legs just a little. Looking at him with those big brown eyes, and a wry smile on her lips. As if to say,  _ oh really? We’re playing this game right now? _

 

Billy responds with a smile of his own as he feels silk. It’s fun to guess what pair of panties she’s wearing. Or if maybe it’s a new pair entirely. Billy sometimes wrecks them in his enthusiasm. He’s guessing  _ red. _ Red silk with a black lace trim. Maybe the pair with the little bow on the front. He likes those ones. Stevie knows it. 

 

She lets him tease for a minute, toying with the elastic waistband, running his fingertips just barely underneath it. Then she’s pushing him away and picking up the check.

 

They do occasionally fuck in restaurant bathrooms. Once she even let Billy get her off under the table in the dingy back corner of some all night diner when they were both a little too drunk to be that subtle about it. But they don’t really do stuff like that in a place this nice. People would notice. The sort of people who might call the cops on them. 

 

So they pay and they leave. Stevie apparently wants revenge, because she insists they get ice cream instead of going straight back to the motel. They end up walking along the beach. She peels off her stockings and makes Billy hold her heels as she walks barefoot through the sand. She licks her scoop of Tahitian Vanilla so slow, so agonizing, Billy almost has a heart attack. He can’t stop staring at her pink tongue, dragging over the creamy white. Her legs are shaved smooth. Her nails are little flecks of pastel purple as she squishes sand between her toes. 

 

Billy can’t help himself. He has to put an arm around her waist. To lick the traces of ice cream off her lips. Kiss her so heavy and deep she drops the remainder of her cone onto the beach. 

 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Billy murmurs. 

 

Stevie shivers. Presses closer against him. He wants to fuck her right there, in the moonlight, with the waves lapping against the shoreline. But they paid for a bed. She deserves to be somewhere soft and comfortable. So he hands her shoes back and scoops her up. One arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees. He carries her to the car while she squeals and laughs.

 

It’s kind of hard to focus on driving, but Billy manages. Gets them back to the Red Roof in one piece. He’s pushing Stevie onto the bed the second he’s closed the door and locked in behind him. She gasps when he kisses her, settles his weight on top of her. She wraps her legs around his waist. Clutches at his shoulders. 

 

_ “Billy,” _ she breathes. Tone a sharp keychange from her earlier exasperation.

 

He rolls his hips, rocking against her. It’s not enough. But he keeps them there for a while. Keeps up until she’s squirming. Whining. Just short of begging for it. 

 

They both like to keep the dress on. So Billy just flips her skirt up. Kisses her stomach, mouths along the jut of her hip. He was right. It’s the red pair, with black lace, and the bow on the front. It always feels like unwrapping a christmas present. He elects to take them off with his teeth, like an animal, tugging them down artlessly until it’s naked skin that’s sticky with anticipation. 

 

“Damn. You’re so wet for me, baby.” Billy kisses and licks so gently. It has to be maddening. Just barely tracing his tongue over where she wants it. Making her twitch. 

 

She fists a hand in his hair, trying to push him down. Which of course makes him pull away, and just stare up at her, biting his lip. Billy is kind of a dick. It’s something he knows about himself. Something he likes about himself. And since Stevie’s still here, she must like it too. People are attracted to arrogant jerks, with just enough of a gooey center that the sting is tantalizing instead of unbearable. 

 

“Did you want something?” He asks so casual. Like they’re not both desperate. 

 

“I hate you,” she groans. 

 

“Well that’s not very nice. Here I thought you were miss manners.”

 

_ “Please.” _ She stops short of they eye roll. Just barely. “Please touch me.”

 

“All you had to do was ask, Princess.”

 

He takes her into his mouth. Sloppy, like she wants it. Deep but nowhere fast enough to get her anywhere. She tries to buck her hips. Urge him on. He just pins her to the bed until she goes still. Panting. Back arched. Eyes closed. 

 

He pauses to lick a finger. Shifts so he can press it between her perfect, round, ass cheeks. It’s not too hard to get it in. Especially when she’s in his mouth again. She’s clutching at she sheets. Breathing faster. 

 

He pulls off to say, “wanna toss me the lube, babe?”

 

She struggles to collect herself. To flail a long arm over to the bedside table. Grab the KY that Billy set out earlier. Never subtle with his intentions. She manages to hand it over. Face flushed. The delicate pink even starting to creep down her neck, below the pearls. 

 

Billy slicks up two fingers and ploughs right ahead. He doesn’t mind a pillow princess. Especially one that’s so fun to tease. 

 

Stevie stretches pretty easy these days. It’s a well rehearsed song and dance. He’s got her worked up to three fingers before long. He could drag it out even longer if he wanted to. But he’s aching. Urgency building. He can’t get inside her fast enough. 

 

He sits up, unbuttons the slacks and kicks them off. 

 

“How so you want it, sweetheart? Wanna be on top?”

 

“Like this,” she breathes. Reaching for him. 

 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He lines up and pushes into her. Can’t help the soft groan. She’s all tight, buttery smooth heat. It makes him dizzy. The overwhelming rush is almost enough to sink him. 

 

But he starts to move. He rocks into her, more careful than he’s ever been with anyone else. She moans so high and pretty.  _ Billy, please, yes, oh fuck.  _

 

His chest hurts. He wasn’t built to feel this much. Never has before. If she left, he doubts he ever would again. Maybe she’ll stay forever. It’s all he can hope for. 

 

He cups her jaw, kisses her as he supports himself on one arm. Can’t help the need for more. Quicker. Deeper. She slips a hand between them, touching herself. 

 

Skin slapping against skin, rusty mattress springs squealing, the headboard would probably be banging against the wall of it were attached to the bed instead of a screwed in piece of plywood. It’s actually a good thing Billy’s approaching the edge already, because they probably wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long without the neighbors complaining. 

 

“You close, baby? You gonna come?” Billy asks. Ragged but stubborn. Stevie has to go first. It’s the principle of the thing. 

 

“Yes.” She whines. “Faster.”

 

Billy has no problem obliging. Driving into her. Really  _ fucking  _ her. She’s gonna be sore tomorrow. That’s probably half the point. 

 

_ “Billy.”  _ It’s drawn out. Almost a scream. 

 

She shudders. Hips jerking. Whole body rolling with the force of it. There’s jizz smeared all over her dress. Billy’s right behind her. Lost in the crash of pleasure. A wave breaking against the shore. 

 

It takes a minute for them to catch their breath. They kiss again, putting off the cleanup. Billy kind of likes the dirty, sticky, sweaty feeling of the afterglow. Stevie, of course, finds it distasteful. But seems too spun out to do anything about it. 

 

“Love you, baby,” Billy whispers against the shell of her ear. 

 

“Mmm, love you.” She sounds dreamy. Maybe drifting off already. 

 

Billy will get up in a minute. Make some half assed effort to mop up the mess with a wet washcloth. All the clothes will come off as the curl up underneath the covers. Stevie will probably pass out with the makeup on and leave stains on the pillowcase. 

 

Maybe it’ll get washed off tomorrow and he’ll take Steve, in cutoff jean shorts and a tank top, to some hole in the wall burrito place. Maybe the eyeliner and lipstick will be reapplied and he’ll take Stevie to the crepe stand on the beach, and she’ll wear a pretty sundress with flowers on it. Billy doesn’t much care either way. Both options make him feel all warm fuzzy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentimes. This was a nice break from the deep well of angst that is every other thing I touch. I found out about the Harringrove Week of Love like two days ago and scrambled to write this.
> 
> I'm back on [tumblr](http://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/) I guess. Let's scream about garbage.


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